The Prestige
by skag trendy
Summary: Happy birthday Phx! Following an interview with The Great Raymondo, Stage Magician extraordinaire, Sam disappears, and Dean is left frantically searching for him. Featuring limp Sammy in peril, and protective Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**The Prestige**

_**Big Happy Birthday to Phx and as thanks for all her help this year.**_

_**Hope you enjoy my darling.**_

_**Following an interview with The Great Raymondo, Stage Magician extraordinaire, Sam disappears, and Dean is left frantically searching for him.**_

_**Featuring Limp/Sammy in peril, and protective Dean.**_

_**Set season 1 before Hell House.**_

_**WARNING: BAD LANGUAGE.**_

_**Yeah, title is blatantly nicked from the film starring Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman. So sue me. You won't get very far...**_

_**Many thanks for the beta go to Devon99, Neata Sanderson and Sendintheclowns**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Uh, no thanks," Sam turned down the offer of peanut butter cookies and tried asking the same question once again. "When did you say you last saw your assistant?"

The Great Raymondo looked surprised. "I didn't."

And that seemed to be all that was forthcoming. Sam tried hard to swallow down his frustration.

"Witnesses claim she was last seen going into your dressing room." _Please take the bait, please take the bait. _"You invited her inside."

"If that's the case, Agent Mustaine, why are you asking me?"

Offering a cool and professional smile, Sam resisted the urge to tap his foot. "I'd just like to hear it from you, sir."

"In that case, I invited her inside my dressing room to discuss her contract renewal. She graciously turned it down. We shook hands. She left." The magician flipped back his long greasy fringe and folded his arms. "Simple as that."

"And she hadn't been back since? Not to collect her personal belongings?" Sam cast a quick eye over the room, noting the sparkling, sequined costumes, and high heeled shoes.

"Those belong to me," Raymondo coldly informed Sam, displaying genuine unfriendliness for the first time since the interview began. "I don't allow my assistants to wear their _own_ costumes, you silly boy, goodness knows what dreadful designs some of these creatures would turn up in. And I won't be embarrassed on stage!"

_No. You kinda do that so well yourself, huh?_ Sam had seen this guy's act, and frankly it sucked. Big time. If ever there was an award for the lamest act of the century, this guy would have won it hands down.

Dean, of course, had been keen to point it out in his usual distinct yet subtle manner, and so Sam had sent him off on a coffee run in case The Great Raymondo demonstrated an incredible talent for turning hunters into frogs, or something equally worrying.

It'd taken a belly full of pride for Sam to apologise on behalf of his tactless brother, but it was necessary just to get close to the magician. Getting him to answer a straightforward question, however, was proving more of a challenge. The guy was obviously on his guard and giving nothing away.

Not that he hadn't given away too much already. Sam had clocked the books on dark arts half hidden on a shelf at the back of the dressing room. He recognised at least one of them as highly dangerous, and felt certain this freak wasn't using it for anything good.

Clearing his throat, Sam continued. "According to The Magic Club records, Lucy Lavender," he bit back a grimace and barely avoided an eye roll: _stage name _"was your fourth assistant in as many months."

Raymondo gave a small wave, the kind Sam had seen in pictures of the Queen Mother.

"Young girls these days just don't last. They take off on flights of fancy, never to be seen again." The magician's blue eyes hardened a little and something in the way he said it set Sam's instincts jumping to high alert.

"Quite literally," Sam murmured aloud, not taking his eyes off the poor excuse for Harry Potter. According to his notes this guy wasn't much older than Dean, yet the way he stared, the way he moved, suggested differently.

The magician was dressed in the usual manner of tragically old fashioned stage performers everywhere. Bow tie, matching black cloak, complete with large black and white wand. Again, lame as hell.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a cookie?"

And suddenly the magician was in Sam's face, eyes boring into his, mouth so close Sam could feel warm puffs of air on his skin. Oxygen seemed to be in real short supply, and though he desperately wanted to loosen his tie, Sam just couldn't seem to move.

"Sam?"

_How does he know my real name?_

"Uh… I…" Sam blinked, feeling his world slowly fall away.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean sat at the coffee bar and sulked. Not only was he relegated to coffee boy but the real cute waitress he'd spotted here the day before wasn't around.

_Stupid day off._

Not only that, but they'd run out of chocolate donuts and Dean was left with the ever boring low fat raspberry muffins. Not even blueberry, but fucking raspberry. Oh joy. _Give it to me baby._

And he'd actually thought this was supposed be more fun than interviewing a lame assed magician so far out of his tree even the squirrels thought he was crazy.

Still, the guy had seemed friendly enough, until Dean had been forced to sit through all three hours of his _lame ass act. _After that, Dean just couldn't contain himself.

_Three hours of my life. Gone. Forever._

With his usual uncanny sense for Dean's fraying temper, Sam had sent him away on an errand, which wouldn't have been nearly so humiliating had there actually been _chocolate donuts_ and the _cute waitress_ hadn't taken the damn day off.

_Sonovabitch!_

He had no idea why Sam was so keen to check this one out. As far as Dean could tell, if the guy was murdering his assistants, let the cops deal with it. This wasn't a job for the Winchesters.

A low buzz came from inside his jacket pocket and the caller ID on retrieval had Dean sighing with relief.

"Sam, at _last, _dude. You found anything out? I'm fucking _bored!_"

But there was nothing on the line, just an unnerving silence.

Dean frowned. "Sammy?"

What sounded like a long inwardly drawn breath came next, before someone answered. "Yeah. I found out it's not Raymondo."

It sure sounded like Sam, but the voice was almost breathless, slurred, as though he was being forced to speak. Something wasn't right.

"So what's your best guess, little bro?" Dean appeared calm and relaxed, sitting in the coffee house and talking on his cell. But, a closer inspection would have revealed white knuckles and a lightly clenched jaw.

"Uh…" again that breathless sound. "You'd better come meet me. I'm at The Magic Club."

Yep. Sam was in trouble all right.

"I can be there in ten minutes," Dean lowered his voice, hoping Sam would have time to answer him before whoever was holding him captive caught on. "You ok? Are you hurt?"

The line went dead.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Well, you are most certainly a pretty one, aren't you? _Sammy?_"

Sam sat still, staring ahead, hands on knees, unable to do much else. So far he'd nearly suffocated three times, purely because the voice had told him to stop breathing. His diaphragm had reacted instantly to the command, his body slowly being starved of oxygen, eyes widening in panic, until the voice, laughing in amusement, had told him to breathe.

He remembered the phone held to his mouth, being instructed what to say, unable to stay quiet. And now his brother was about to walk into a trap.

"Stand up."

Slowly, he obeyed. A tear spilled over his right eye lashes, and dripped down his face. He couldn't stop this, there was no way out, he felt so trapped. Dean was going to die and crying was about the only thing Sam had any control over.

"Stop crying."

It was similar in tone to the one his father had used on him whilst growing up. It hadn't worked then and it wouldn't work now. More tears cascaded down his cheeks, in a deliberate act of rebellion.

"I said, _stop crying!_"

Sam still didn't stop, not even when his captor wrapped something over his eyes and tied it behind his head.

"Why do you cry, child?"

But it was clear no answer was required because Sam tried to move his mouth, put his vocals chords to use, and failed.

A small laugh in his ear might have made him flinch if he'd been able to move.

"You really don't understand, do you, Sammy? I spotted you two straight off. So distinctive in your movements, so intent on your case… but then, that's _hunters_ for you, right?"

Sam stood still as a statue, body awaiting commands.

"Walk forward."

Unable to resist, he did so. The walk seemed to take a while and his captor was content to jabber on about his dastardly plan, presumably figuring Sam wouldn't live long enough to repeat it.

"You know, if you'd just left me alone, you would have been fine. But no, you had to interfere," another soft laugh, "you and your brother. What _did_ you think you were dealing with? A simple case of disappearances? Plain old ritualistic blood sacrifices?"

Sam felt his skin crawl when more hot breath ghosted over his neck.

"Turn right. Walk forward."

Sam felt his limbs beginning to shake as he tried to resist.

"Stop."

A low grating noise just ahead, like stone on stone, startled him.

_Where's he taking me?_

"Walk forward."

"Now you see, _this_ is why. Think, boy. How do you think I manage to stay in business? Why do you think people keep on coming back, paying good money at the door, just to watch cheap, silly magic tricks that've been done to death?"

A long silence reigned whilst Sam's body kept on walking.

"Stop."

"Sit on the bench."

And even though he couldn't see the bench, his body obeyed anyhow.

"You're different to all my assistants, stronger, tougher." Those lips brushed his ear. "I feel you fighting me."

Sam felt another piece of cloth forced between his teeth and tied tightly round his head.

"You'll be harder to control, but the rewards will last longer, I'm sure. Ya see, I have a nice, easy life here. I don't have to work too hard, and most people who come here are easy to influence, unlike you and your darling brother of course. The Magic Club survives on the magic alone, attracting the same rich crowds back night after night. None of them care, so long as the wine and beer flows nicely, and by the time they've sobered up the morning after, no one remembers how stupid it was, how easy it was to see through the smoke and mirrors… and they give me _so much_ in return."

Sam was thinking furiously, putting two and two together and hopefully coming up with four. The way it all sounded, the assistants had been the main power boost for some kind of glamour spell during each performance, until they ran out of juice and… _disappeared._ Sam had a few theories of his own about that, and wouldn't mind betting a good search of the basement would dig up the emaciated remains of four girls, prematurely aged, and, probably, as the final part of each sacrifice, drained of blood. The assistants had most likely lived their last few weeks of life under the total control of the Great Raymondo, much like Sam was now, and his heart ached for the poor kids. The background of each girl was basically the same. No home, no one to miss them, no one to look for them.

Except the last one. Raymondo had made a big mistake with the last girl; the disappearance of the senator's runaway daughter had thrown up a big red, blinding flag, and she'd last been seen working here in this club as Raymondo's assistant. Of course, without a body the police had drawn a blank, and no doubt a little of the glamour spell had been employed because the police never disturbed The Magic Club again.

But that wasn't all. The audience clearly had a part to play in all this, without even knowing it. Raymondo was taking just a little life force from his audience at each performance, just enough to keep him on top form, perhaps to make his assistants last longer between each set…

"Yes, you were too tough for the glamour spell, Sammy, but…" the magician tutted loudly, "the eyes sure worked on you huh? For just long enough maybe."

_So, some form of hypnosis. A very powerful form._

"Lay down."

Sam's body obeyed. Cold metal surrounded his throat, wrists and ankles, effectively anchoring him to the bench. Sam's breathing picked up, panting out through his nose, and he managed to move a thumb. Raymondo's control was slowly wearing off but it wasn't going to help him now.

"Your brother's going to be fun to lure in; I certainly look forward to that. Then I'll have both of you for my needs. Though I must warn you." A hand brushed almost tenderly over his cheek. "He makes one wrong move, tries to escape or set you free, and you die." He patted Sam's shoulder. "Have fun, my sweet Sammy."

A grating noise over head startled him then a strange pressure built in his ears, like he was being covered…

The blindfold was ripped off just in time for Sam to see a glass case descending, covering him from head to toe, his nose almost pressed up against the top.

_Oh God._

Several loud _thunks_ by his head and feet made him jump, but a weird sucking noise round the edges of the glass had him panicking.

_Air tight. I can't get out._

He stared up at the slightly distorted figured of his captor, eyes wide with fear.

_Can't breathe._

Sam struggled against the metal bonds, panting through his nose, desperately trying to suck in more air.

_Not enough... can't get enough air..._

The case was merely an inch or so from his eyeballs and Sam could see his breath fogging up the glass. The metal at his neck, pinning him to the bench, seemed to grow tighter, restricting his wind pipe; the more he struggled, the worse it became, the walls of the case closing in, sealing him in forever.

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind a small voice of reason piped up.

_Gotta calm down._

_You're having a panic attack._

_Breathe. Just breathe._

It was the same voice he used to hear before a major test at school, and it always sounded like Dean. That low, soft voice that would also filter through his nightmares as a child, holding him close and keeping him safe.

As always it had the desired effect.

It wasn't until Sam closed his eyes and forced himself to remain still that he noticed the cool breeze against his left ear. Pulse slowing, breathing falling back under control, he opened his eyes and let them slide to the left; a hole with a tube attached, around three inches in diameter, was allowing him to breathe, though the flow of air was sluggish and stale.

Sam could already feel himself drifting off. There was just enough air to keep him alive, but not enough to keep him fully conscious. His eyelids drooped, still watching the smiling figure of The Great Raymondo standing over him, and smirking at his plight.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_**Well here goes another adventure for our favourite boys.**_

_**This one has another 3 chapters to go so don't forget to tell me what you think, and I'll send out the Sammy hugs, but this time with Sammy **_**kisses...**

_**Soft eye gazing and tongues included for those with the best reviews!**_

_**( sniggers... oh you naughty people! You do **_**so**_** tickle me)**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	2. Chapter 2

**The Prestige**

**Chapter 2**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**For Phx.**_

**_Cheers for all the wonderful reviews everyone!_**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean didn't bother knocking. He'd been invited anyhow.

_By his brother. _

Sliding silently in through the basement window, he stopped to listen, could hear a muffled voice somewhere up above and decided to follow.

As he grew near, he caught a few snatches of words, always the same voice droning on, but when he heard it call out _'Sammy'_ Dean picked up his pace.

"_You're different from all my assistants, stronger…"_

"_I feel you fighting me."_

"Atta boy, Sam," Dean muttered softly.

A trap door over head seemed to be the only exit when Dean reached a dead end, so he quietly climbed up, lifting the door as he cautiously peered into the room above.

There was nothing of interest, merely the dark, empty stage facing out over the auditorium where he and his brother had spent last night watching The Great Raymondo pulling rabbits out of hats.

Dean shook his head in disgust and muttered an expletive.

_They weren't even _live_ rabbits. Where's the fun in that?_

Cocking his head to the side, Dean listened intently. The voice had faded, as though he'd walked straight passed them and gone out through another door.

He cast a quick eye round the small theatre to confirm its general emptiness before slowly retreating back down through the trap door, ears straining for sound. As his foot hit the middle rung of the ladder, the voice crept back into his hearing range and grew louder the lower he went.

_What the f…?_

"_Yes, you were too tough for the glamour spell, Sammy,_

It almost seemed as though the voice was coming from _behind _the dead end. Dean stared hard at the brickwork for a long moment, then his fingers were curling desperately round them, pressing here, pulling there, until finally, with a soft click, the wall gave up its secrets and swung smoothly inwards.

"_The eyes sure worked on you huh? For just long enough maybe."_

Dean frowned at that, but his confusion grew when he crept forward into a small passageway. This was definitely some kind of hidden room beneath the stage. He was fairly certain the blue prints his younger brother had dug out of the library hadn't shown anything other than a large basement.

"_Lay down."_

Dean damn near gave away his position when he stumbled on a loose piece of brick. His mind was ticking over, calculating and assessing, when it came to him.

Sammy was under some kind of powerful mind control, maybe a hypnotic trance.

_The eyes sure worked on you huh?_

Dean reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out his shades. He had no guarantee these would be adequate protection, but there was no other choice.

"_Your brother's going to be fun to lure in; I certainly look forward to that. Then I'll have both of you for my needs…"_

Dean bristled at the notion, hands curling into fists. Sure he had his Taurus with consecrated iron rounds or the silver knife in his ankle holster, but right then? Just plain old beating the crap out of the bastard seemed the most attractive prospect.

And it was during these angry musings that Dean missed a vital piece of information.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam blinked sluggishly. He was much calmer by this time but still wary of what would happen next. Breathing slowly and carefully though his nose was keeping him from losing it to claustrophobia, and allowed him to think. If he had to guess, once the glass case descended, the magician's control over him was lost, hence the gag and manacles, but the case itself put Sam in mind of some kind of magic trick.

_Whatsisnamenow? _Sam's oxygen deprived brain was trying to find the answer. _Harry someone... Houdini?_

A muffled noise from outside the case had Sam's head turning slowly to the side. Raymondo had set aside what looked like a heavy fire axe, the smug bastard still grinning from ear to ear. Sam angrily ground his teeth into the gag and turned his head back, refusing to give his captor the satisfaction of showing fear.

A length of rope suddenly flew upwards just in front of his glass tomb, pulled taut, and carrying something heavy towards the ceiling. It happened several times, in fact, on either side of the casing. Either Raymondo was using some form of TK, or he had more than one pair of hands.

Sam didn't get much of a chance to see exactly what it was now dangling up above, because the glass case was suddenly shrouded in darkness, and Raymondo's voice came through Sam's one and only air tube, loud and clear.

"Just a little insurance, in case your brother gets too cocky. A sandbag to the head could really spoil his day!" A light tapping on the glass and the magician laughed. "Behave yourself, pray your brother doesn't cause me any trouble, and may be you'll both live long enough for tonight's performance, young Sam."

Footsteps signalled Raymondo's retreat, and Sam was left alone in the darkness, trussed up and unable to call for help.

There was little chance of Sam misbehaving, but Dean was another matter.

Sam huffed tiredly through his nose, but a little mirth poked at him. _Oh yeah. We're screwed._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean's progress down the passageway was slow and silent. The only light source came from whatever awaited him at the end, reflecting back off the basement walls and showing him the way.

If this bastard wanted him so much then it was doubtful Sam was in any immediate danger.

No. The immediate danger for Sam would begin when Dean was discovered.

Suddenly, the faint light ahead was shut off, plunging Dean in to total darkness.

_Ok_. Dean nodded but made no attempt to pull out his flashlight. _Guy likes to play games. I can live with that._

But the big question was, could Sam?

Dean crept forward, hand reaching for the Taurus, and keeping his back to the wall. He didn't dare increase his speed for fear of making too much noise. The guy obviously already knew Dean was in the building, but he didn't know about the shades _hopefully _protecting his eyes, and right now that was the only real advantage Dean had.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a small cobweb brushed against his forehead, and the sound of tiny rodent paws scurrying somewhere nearby made his stomach churn. Something ran over his foot and Dean almost choked on his own tongue. Scowling to himself, he made a silent vow to torch the place once he found his little brother and wasted Merlin-wannabe.

Reaching a bend in the passage, Dean slid round cautiously, and came out into a large dark space. Now he could understand why the magician's voice had carried so well along the tunnel, it was a _huge_ room. _Huge._ He could _feel_ the size of it, didn't have to see it. The oppressive darkness made Dean feel as though he was being swallowed whole, as the cavernous space sucked at him and drew him inside.

He shrugged; it beat being stuck with the rats and spiders.

Taking a cautious step forward and keeping to the edge of the room, Dean strained his eyes through the shades, not daring to take them off. For all he knew, the magician wouldn't need to stand right up close in order to entrance his prey, perhaps just a few feet would be enough, and given the darkness of the room it was possible to walk right by someone and not even know it.

Though the floor felt firm underfoot, still bricks, Dean wasn't taking any chances; one hidden trap door could mean the end for his brother, and he'd come too far to lose Sam now.

_All the way from Stanford..._

A loud drum roll, followed by the _clash_ of cymbals had Dean stopping in his tracks.

"_Ladies and Gentleman! Allow me to introduce your host and entertainment for this evening, The Great Raymondo!" _The disembodied voice was accompanied by some crackling, as though from an old gramophone.

Dean felt his jaw drop. If possible, this was shaping up to be even cheesier than the previous night's performance.

A spotlight illuminated an empty corner of the room, and with a puff of smoke – _Dean rolled his eyes _– the magician appeared, grinning widely, his face a mass of white make up and bright red lipstick, and the gramophone went wild, applauding and cheering in hundreds of voices.

Dean glanced around him. From what he could make out, this wasn't a theatre and there were no seats for an audience to sit. In fact, it looked more like a practice room of some kind; somewhere for the magician to rehearse and psyche himself up in readiness for his act.

"Thank you ladies and gentlemen; it is a great pleasure to see you all here tonight," Raymondo took a bow. "And may I introduce my _very_ new assistant, the very sweet and lovely, Sam Winchester!"

Another roar of approval from the _audience_ and a second spotlight flashed into life, revealing what appeared to be a glass sarcophagus on the other side of the room, raised up on a platform.

Dean's eyes slowly widened and he tipped the shades down his nose a little to get a better look.

"Oh my God, Sam..." he whispered, voice shaking a little with fear.

His little brother was trapped inside the glass case, which Dean quickly realised was actually a _water tank_. Ten large gallon bottles of water suspended nearby were each attached to a small pipe, and each of _those_ joined together further along to form a much larger tube, which fed down through a stand and into the back of Sam's glass prison. The presence of another thin tube with an even thinner end piece, rather like an oboe's reed, that snaked downwards and joined the tangle, assured Dean that his brother could breathe, though it was a _very_ thin tube, probably providing only minimal air. No doubt some kind of clever mechanism would be employed to shut off the air tube and allow the water to flood…

_Nonononono. Not going there._

Dean's eyes frantically searched for an answer, a way for his brother to escape, but even if there had been Sam didn't stand a chance. The kid was tightly strapped down by his wrists and ankles, unable to move, and if that wasn't humiliating enough, he was also thoroughly gagged.

Dean took comfort from the slow rise and fall of Sam's chest, but even from where he stood he could tell the kid was scared. Body shaking, eyes blinking wildly in the sudden bright light and the flex and twitch of his fingers round the metal cuffs told him Sam's sanity was holding on by a thread.

_Shit. Poor kid's always been claustrophobic._ Dean felt his anger stir once again, and it was all he could do not to storm the hell over there and break Sam out. But common sense told him it wasn't going to be that easy.

"As you can see, this evening is all about _escapism!_" Raymondo dramatically lowered his voice on the last word, earning a round of _oohs _and _ahhs_ from the non-existent audience. "But, this time _Sam_ will be the one in peril" he gave another bow and a flourish "_from the_ _tank of death!_"

Dean willed Sam to look his way, forgetting that he was still shrouded in darkness. His feet itched to run to his little brother, but that _common sense_ also told Dean he had his own role to play in this, that there were certain rules to follow or Sam would die.

He was suddenly blinded by another spotlight but this time from right overhead.

Raymondo erupted into raucous, maniacal laughter and performed a delighted twirl on one foot.

"Ah, and here we have our very own Indiana Jones, to foil the plot and save the boy," the magician grinned wickedly as the fake audience _ooh_'ed again. "Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for my second assistant, Sam's brother, Dean Winchester!"

Dean scowled angrily, his eardrums almost bursting from the loud clapping and whistling. The spotlight shone down on him, illuminating the brick floor at his feet, and sweat trickled down his back.

Eyes still focused on Sam, Dean saw his brother's head snap to the side, his eyes widening; chest rising and falling way too fast. The kid began shaking his head, seemingly trying his hardest to shout through the gag.

Though the tank remained still and steady, Dean got the impression Sam was struggling to rock the damn thing right over, but it wasn't budging an inch. No hope there. Damn thing was probably weighed down with lead!

Dean saw Sam's shirt slip down a little, revealing the tight metal restraint across his throat, keeping Sam's head locked down. His increasingly panicked movements were choking him on the collar, making him gag and retch as he desperately tried to get his message across.

And if Sam was desperate enough to hurt himself like that, then that message had to be a warning.

_It's a trap… be careful…_

_Huh. No shit little bro._

Dean removed his shades and waited until he caught his brother's eye, then signalled with a hand wave and a raised brow.

_I hear ya, kiddo, loud and clear… calm down…_

Sam understood and stilled immediately but his eyes remained wide and vigilant.

Dean turned his attention to Raymondo once again, though he kept his brother in his peripherals. There was little point in keeping the shades on; Dean had no choice but to do as he was told anyhow. And that was kinda the point, now that he thought about it.

Sam had fallen under Raymondo's control, probably because he was completely _unaware _of any attempt at hypnotism until it was too late. He'd been taken by surprise. But for Dean, well, as they say, _forewarned is forearmed._ The magician had pre-empted him, knowing Dean would over hear that piece of information, and used his little brother as bait. Presumably, the _hypnostare_ as Dean came to call it, only worked on those who were ignorant of it.

Dean growled low in his throat.

He was disgusted to note that the idiot magician was once again bowing and grinning to his _audience_, and decided to sit back and let ol'Ray show him where this was going.

Clearly, Dean was meant to rescue Sam from a watery death, but there was always a catch.

"So, Dean. Are you up to the task?" Raymondo challenged, a little too smugly.

Dean folded his arms, regarded his enemy and gave his answer. "No."

The _audience _gasped and muttered.

Raymondo raised an eyebrow, but didn't seem surprised. "I _see_. You _want_ your brother to drown."

Out the corner of his eye Dean sensed Sam's trusting gaze and relaxed. "No. I'm just not in the mood for games. Especially when I don't know the rules."

The magician blinked innocently. "But you already _know_ the rules." He leaned forward slightly, the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. "_Indiana!_"

_Now_ Dean understood. This wasn't going to be as simple as rescuing Sam from the glass case before time ran out. No, a gauntlet had been thrown down, there were going to be other obstacles to face, judging by the _Indiana Jones_ reference, and if he made a mistake…

He had no way of knowing what the booby traps were or where, but there was little point in hanging around biding his time.

"Ok." Dean nodded his consent, then pointed an accusing finger at the guy. "But you really should see someone about that Harrison Ford crush, dude. He'd never go for an asshole like you!"

Throwing one last grin at his brother, he took off out of the spotlight, disappearing into the darkness beyond.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_**So what has the evil and, it has to be said, somewhat insane magician have in store for our Dean? And can he save his brother?**_

_**Did you all enjoy snogging Sammy, eh guys?**_

_**Hurhurhur...**_

_**More on the way.**_

_**Cheers my darlings.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	3. Chapter 3

**The Prestige**

**Chapter 3**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**For Phx.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam flinched when the light came on above him, shining through the glass and blinding him momentarily. Muffled voices came to him through the tube, followed by a strange noise that sounded like clapping and cheering.

Another spotlight clanked on to his right, and he turned his head sharply, nearly throttling himself in the process. His brother stood under the light, tall and proud, green gaze glinting furiously, sun shades balanced on the tip of his nose.

Sam couldn't hear what was being said but he sure could guess, and he didn't like it one bit. There was no way the magician would let Dean waltz over and release Sam from the case just like that. Something else was going on here but he couldn't figure it out.

A memory of rope and something heavy being whisked away to the ceiling came back to him, and Sam suddenly knew.

Traps.

Dean had to defeat the booby traps before freeing Sam.

He had to warn Dean.

He struggled against the metal collar, desperate to get his brother's attention, ignoring the burn in his lungs as the band pressed against his windpipe, choking him.

_Dean…_

He yanked uselessly on his wrists, the harsh metal cutting deep until he felt the warmth of his own blood pooling under his fingers. It didn't matter. It didn't hurt. _Not compared to... _

He had to warn his brother. He tried rocking his body in the forlorn hope of knocking the damn case to the floor and smashing the glass, but no matter how violently he threw himself against his bonds, the case remained rock steady.

Gasping for air around his gag, Sam sent a panicked glance over at his brother again, to find Dean relaxed and confident, eyes boring into his, almost smiling. Sam understood the silent command and gave a small nod. He had to calm down. There was nothing else he could do now, the rest was up to Dean, and Sam trusted his big brother with his life.

_Do or die time, right?_

More muffled voices came down Sam's breathing tube and he realised his brother and Raymondo were involved in some kind of discussion, but before he could get a grasp of what was going on, Dean cast one last reassuring smile at Sam, stepped out of the spotlight and melted into the shadows.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean found himself acknowledging, sadly not for the first time since entering the room, that this had to be the most stupid plan any evil mastermind had ever come up with.

Ever. In the entire world.

Not even a Bond villain would resort to something this tacky.

Dean revised that statement immediately when an image of Sean Connery, strapped to table, with a laser beam cutting its way towards the Bond family jewels came stomping to mind.

Not even a Bond villain would resort to something _quite_ so tacky.

He shook his head and grinned before sidestepping a spotlight that came on suddenly. Dean shrunk back again, wrapping the shadows around him like a protective cloak.

A squeaky floorboard had him leaping back further just as the trap door fell downwards with a loud _thud!_

Dean blinked as the new circumstances caught up with him. The floor was no longer brick, but wooden, and he hadn't even realised when that changed.

He took a deep breath.

_That was too close._

No sooner had he thought it than another one nearly took him out, but this time the door shot _outwards_ revealing a high tension cross bow, loaded and ready to fire.

So ready, in fact, that Dean barely had time to duck and move. And thank God he _did _move, because ducking wasn't enough. The arrow left the bow with a soft _twang_, ricocheted off the brick ceiling and _thunked _into the wooden floor right where Dean's foot had been a second ago.

_How the hell's he doin' that?_

Standing perfectly still, Dean breathed silently through his mouth for a few long moments, letting the magician think he'd been hit.

"Oh don't play games, you silly boy. Just get on with it! Our adoring public demand action!" Raymondo called out, all cocky and smug.

Clearly _that_ hadn't worked.

"_You're _one to talk about games, you sick sonovabitch!" Dean growled, practically baring his teeth.

"Now, now. Sticks and stones, and all that!" the magician retorted. "Oh and, er, thanks for letting me know exactly where you are, Dean. That's a real help."

_Shit!_

"And your brother will have to pay a penalty for that little out burst." The bastard chuckled. "Just for my titillation, you understand."

_God no!!_ Dean's eyes snapped straight to the case just as a loud _snick_ and a _clunk _echoed around the room. Dean could see Sam trying to search him out in the darkness, could see the panicked look in his eyes deepen into real fear as a slow glugging noise had him glancing at his breathing tube.

Water spilled out cutting off Sam's air and drenching the poor kid right in the nose. Sam appeared to cough and splutter then turned his face away. The water sped up, splashing its way round Sam's tank as the first gallon bottle emptied.

"Sammy!"

Judging by the way his little brother was shivering violently, and the condensation that immediately clung to the glass, Dean would have to guess the water was freezing cold.

"That's what happens when you let your temper get the better of you," Raymondo droned on, sounding bored. Then he tutted, condescendingly. "You'll never make it in this business if you don't learn some patience!"

Dean bit his tongue, swallowing a sarcastic reply. Oh, he'd learned all right. Any backchat or insults, and Sammy would pay the price.

His heart pounded with fear when he glanced back at the tank to find his brother panting through his nose against the cold and the water tinged a terrible pink, a testimony to his earlier struggles and damaged wrists.

Dean ducked his head and took some calming breaths; now was _so_ not the time to lose his cool. He would run this guy's _stupid_ gauntlet, set Sammy free, then, finally, and with the biggest smile on his face, _he'd pull Raymondo's guts out his ass_.

Casting an apologetic smile at his shivering brother, Dean carried on with the challenge.

The next surprise at least gave him more of a warning. The sharp _swish_ of metal sliced the air behind him, and he dropped flat to the floor. He swore he could feel the hairs on his scalp parting in the small breeze, as the axe swung once more like a pendulum, and with impeccable timing, Dean leapt up and out of range. Another spotlight flickered to life before his feet even hit the ground.

He huffed out a relieved breath and took a pace forward.

_One step closer. Hold on, Sammy._

Loud clapping from Raymondo's direction had Dean rolling his eyes.

"Oh, bravo dear chap! I must say you really are very good!"

"Fuck off, asshole," Dean muttered under his breath, which turned out to be a big mistake for Sam.

"Heard that! Whoops, here we go…" the magician replied in a sing-song voice. "You really should watch your language, and be careful! The acoustics in this room really are rather shocking."

Another loud glugging noise started up and Dean watched in despair as Sam turned his head away from the breathing tube again, and clenched his eyes shut.

"Oh God Sammy, I'm so sorry," Dean watched the kid's struggles helplessly. "You always said my big mouth would get you in trouble some day."

By the time a second bottle was empty, the water level nearly covered Sam's arms and long legs. The kid's shivering stepped up a notch, and Dean worried about hypothermia setting in if he didn't get his little brother out of there soon.

_Like he hasn't got enough to deal with._

But something else was also worrying. Sure, the tank was long enough to accommodate Sam's tall frame, but _ten_ gallons of water was, quite literally, overkill. No way was that amount of water needed to fill the tank, and Dean couldn't help feeling that was significant somehow.

There was no more time to ponder it. He wasn't far from his brother, but he had the sneaky suspicion no matter what route he took, a booby trap awaited him.

_Fuck it!_ Dean decided then and there to draw a straight line from A to B, and charged towards the platform.

Heavy sandbags dropped from the ceiling, crashing into the floor and raising large clouds of dust as some split open. Dean, though taken by surprise, dodged them successfully and kept on running. More and more sandbags dropped, and in between each one Dean could hear the mad magician laughing at him.

He was just about to leap up on to the platform, so near yet so far from Sam, when another sandbag dropped down and smashed into his shoulder, damn near dislocating the limb.

"Godammit!" Dean bit back a scream and clutched his shoulder.

"Oh dear!" and somehow Dean knew Raymondo's exclamation had nothing to do with his injury. "Blasphemy? Really Dean?"

That terrible glugging noise made Dean unclench his teeth for a moment, his jaw dropping open when more water gushed its way into Sam's prison.

Once the third bottle emptied, the waterline was now half covering the tube. Another gallon of water and Sam's air would be cut off, leaving him with a dwindling supply which would soon be used up. As it was, the water was half covering Sam's ears and framing his chin, but still leaving his nose and gagged mouth free. No longer able to turn his head to the side, Sam kept facing upwards, but his scared eyes continually sought his brother's, brows pinched in worry seeing the pain on Dean's face.

Dean nodded and grinned weakly, trying to reassure him. Breathing through the pain was easier said than done, but he forced himself to do it. To do it for _Sam_.

Limping onwards, he was rewarded by one last sandbag that again narrowly missed his head, and the next moment he was gazing down at his kid brother's frightened face through the glass, grimacing at the sight of blue tinged lips and goose bumps on exposed skin.

Placing a hand against the glass, just by Sam's right one, Dean smiled and nodded.

_I'm gonna get you out. Stay with me bro_ he mouthed.

Sam blinked and replied with a shaky nod of his own, appearing to smile in spite of the cloth tied round his mouth.

"So, here we are, at what you might call an _impasse_," Raymondo suddenly hissed _right by Dean's ear_.

_What the fuck?! How did he move so fast?_

"What are you going to do now, Dean? That tank is now air tight, Sam's trapped… _so come on. How are you going to do it?_"

Oh Christ. Dean suppressed a sigh and resisted the strong temptation to punch the bastard. Instead, he turned to the magician with one eyebrow raised.

"Can I ask you a question?" he kept it light and casual, well aware that Sam was sliding into hypothermia, but the more he could find out the better. Something wasn't right here.

Raymondo shrugged. "Ask away."

"Why all this?" Dean swept his good arm around, indicating the room and all its hidden death traps. "Why so elaborate? Why not just kill us and get it over with? I mean, I don't buy all that crap about keeping us as your _assistants_. Draining us?" he shook his head, hiding a wince at the pull on his shoulder. "Nah. If you had us marked as hunters right from the get go, the smart thing would've been to take us out there and then. So, I ask again. Why?"

Raymondo smirked, more than a little amused, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You really want to know?"

"Yep," Dean replied, trying to quell the urge to strangle the guy.

"Sure? You're not going to like it."

"Go… er… goshdarnit!" Dean amended at the last moment, and glared ferociously at the magician.

Raymondo leaned in conspiratorially, and whispered the words that had Dean _completely_ losing his cool.

"It was _much_ more fun this way... don't you think?"

"YOU…" Dean roared.

Loud gurgling cut him off. Dean swung round in time to see Sam trying desperately to arch his neck but the collar kept him immobile as more water thundered into the tank. When the water sloshed around and eventually settled down, Sam was spluttering through his nose, the only part of him now above the waterline.

Dean stared down at the kid through the glass, even as Raymondo spoke quietly.

"You see, I knew the good times couldn't last forever, that one day people like you might come after me, so I had to be prepared. Killing you boys, which I fully intend to, by the way, won't be enough. I'll be hunted by your kind, possibly even killed as they search for you. But I won't go down without a fight, Dean. The Great Raymondo must take his final bow in style."

Dean looked down as a fire axe was nudged into his good hand.

"So who's it going to be, Dean? Me? Or your brother?" The magician smiled.

Dean stared at the madman. _He really doesn't care if he lives or dies._

More to the point, he didn't care if _Sam_ lived or died.

With a wide swing, and with careful aim, Dean made a decision.

The wrong one as it turned out.

The axe bounced off the bottom of the glass case right by Sam's feet, leaving nothing more than a surface chip.

_Oh shit!_

The fifth gallon bottle began to empty, albeit much more slowly now that Sam's tank was already nearly full.

"Sammy!" Dean swung the axe again, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder, and struck, the damn thing once again bouncing off the surface. "Oh God, I fucked up! I'm so sorry, I fucked up!"

Sam took once last deep breath before the water crept up covering his nose completely. Dean carried on swinging, desperate, heart breaking, gouging the surface chip deeper. He watched his brother trying so hard to hold on, his gaze soft and trusting even under the water, and gathered strength from it.

With one final roar, Dean brought the axe down on the glass, but to no avail.

The case remained intact, and the light was fading from Sam's eyes.

_Something wasn't right here…_

_Ten_ gallons. But it only took _five_ to fill it.

_This was all a fucking riddle!_

But it told him what he needed to do.

"No…" Dean panted and shook his head, angrily. "NO! I'm not losing him!" He turned back to the magician. "I'm not losing him to a crazy piece of shit like _you!_"

Raymondo smiled, almost sadly. "I think you just did."

And with that, Dean dropped the axe, drew back his arm, and clocked the bastard one on the chin. The magician went down like one of his sandbags, out cold before he hit the floor.

The five remaining tanks let go their contents, sloshing into the tubes, running together into the main pipe. Continuing its journey, the gurgling water hit the contents of the tank, and a sheer... _unnatural _force pushed _outwards _against the glass. The glass, already weakened a little by the fire axe, began to crack under the building pressure, until something had to give.

With a deafening rush of water, and the harsh crunch of breaking glass, the tank obliterated.

Dean slid along with the current, grasping at something to hold on to. When the flood subsided, the older brother found himself a good ten feet across the room, the fire axe on one side of him, and the unconscious magician on the other.

Dean stumbled to his feet and staggered over to the still form of his kid brother lying on the now exposed bench.

"Sam?" he panted out, fingers reaching and searching for a pulse. "Sammy?"

His brother was so _cold_.

But his heart was beating.

Dean ripped the gag down from Sam's mouth and shoved his ear right up close.

Not a breath was taken, nor expired.

"Dammit Sam!"

Fortunately, Sam's restraints weren't padlocked, just bolted into place, so Dean very quickly had him free and positioned for resuscitation.

"Ok, Sammy," Dean whispered, tilting the kid's head back and pinching off his nose. "S'show time, little bro."

The furious ache in Dean's shoulder refused to let up and if anything grew worse, but wimping out wasn't an option.

He took a breath... and blew.

"C'mon kid! Fight!"

Another...

"Doncha do this to me, Sam!"

Another...

It took six rescue breaths before Sam was spluttering and coughing up great lungfuls of water, his back arching weakly, head rolling helplessly against the bench.

"That's it, Sam, just take it easy and breathe." Dean grinned down at him when the kid finally cracked open his eyes. "Hey! You find Nemo in there? Sure took you long enough to come back, dude."

Sam gave him a tired smile in return but that was about all he could manage for the moment. His panting soon gave way to shivering, reminding Dean of the dangers of hypothermia.

"Here," he shrugged quickly out of his leather jacket. "Can you sit up? It's a little damp after Niagara burst its banks but it's better than nothin'."

Sam nodded weakly, but needed assistance. Dean gently tugged him up off the bench and into a sitting position, Sam's long legs danging over the edge, and wrapped the jacket round his shoulders.

"Th-thanks, Dean," he whispered.

Dean smirked, rubbing the kid's arms to ease some warmth back into him.

"Ya know something'?"

"Huh?" Sam blinked, staring over Dean's shoulders into the distance.

"I think I hate magicians almost as much as you hate clowns, dude."

"Uhuh," came the soft reply.

Dean shrugged, not aware of the danger, and certainly not noticing the strange melancholy look on Sam's face.

"C'mon, let's get you back to the motel and into some dry clothes… hey! What the hell Sam?" Dean cried out.

Quick as lightning, Sam had reached round and grabbed his brother's Taurus from the waistband of his jeans. The muzzle was now pointing at Dean's chest, though the hand holding it was by no means steady.

"Dean…" Sam gasped, eyes still fixed over Dean's shoulder.

Dean turned his body halfway round to find the magician back on his feet and staring into Sam's eyes. The fire axe, however, hovered menacingly a few feet in front, its blade aimed at Dean.

"Ah. It seems the youngster is so responsive I only have to _think_," the magician winked at Sam, but directed his comment at Dean. "Watch this. It's a neat trick."

What Dean heard next lead to a later conversation that came back to haunt him many times over the years.

"Sam," Raymondo called in a stern voice. "Stop breathing."

But Sam just stared back at him, still very _much_ breathing.

Dean's head swivelled between the two men, whilst Raymondo appeared to be getting agitated.

"Sam! I _said_ STOP BREATHING!"

Sam, still shivering with the cold, suddenly pushed his brother roughly down to the floor, leaving the magician well and truly in his sights.

Dean watched in stunned amazement as the standoff played out.

"S-sorry," Sam managed a jerky shrug, trying to keep his hand steady, but he was just _so cold._ "I g-guess it d-doesn't w-work on m-me anym-more."

With a loud angry roar, the magician TK'd the axe into a forward spin, the blade flashing evilly in the spotlights, aiming for right between Sam's eyes.

At that same moment Sam fired twice, both rounds hitting their mark.

The axe missed by virtue of Dean's hand grabbing a hold of Sam's sodden shirt front, and yanking the kid clear.

The magician collapsed in a heap, gasping for breath at first, then slowly subsiding, his body slumped, awkward and still.

The brothers, however, didn't really notice. They were too busy staring in shock at the quivering axe; its blade buried half an inch into the bench, _right between them._

"Uh…" Dean swallowed. "So... human, then."

"Uhuh," Sam responded, blinking hard.

Dean recovered a little first, and glanced over at his brother, alarmed when he still saw the blue tinge to his lips, the uncontrollable shakes wracking his body and figured it wasn't all down to shock.

"Hey, Sammy?" he spoke softly, still not sure Sam was _with him_, and touched the hand still holding the Taurus. "You can let go now, kiddo. C'mon. Give me the gun."

Sam turned his gaze downwards to their hands and swallowed, hard.

"I-I k-killed him," he whispered, brokenly.

Dean's heart took a pounding when that soul piercing gaze lifted again, his brother begging him to say it hadn't _happened_, that Sam _hadn't just killed a human._

"C'mon. Let's get outta here, and we'll talk about it later, ok?" Dean repeated and searched his face for some sign the kid was listening. "Sammy?"

Sam's horrified face nearly crumpled just then, but with a show of strength that had Dean silently applauding him, he stiffened his resolve, lifted his chin and nodded.

It would have made a more impressive sight had the kid not been shaking like a leaf in a storm.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_**So... that was a little intense eh? A little LimpSam with ProtectiveDean, plus both brothers get to play hero and save each other. Just the way it should be in my view.**_

_**Let me know what you think eh?**_

**_Final chapter up soon._**

_**Cheers my darlings.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	4. Chapter 4

**The Prestige**

**Chapter 4**

_**Epilogue.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Once again, a big happy birthday to Phx, and my thanks for being such a wonderful mate.**_

_**And loads of hugs go to Devon99, Sendintheclowns, and Neata Sanderson for all their wonderful beta work.**_

**_I'm sorry for not replying to some of your reviews for the last chapter. It's been a hectic few days and I've had a lot to deal with. All completely my own fault, by the way. Some shit happened and... well, like I said. My own fault. Thought you'd rather have the last chapter than me harping on about it..._**

**_But review this and I promise to respond._**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean crept back into Sam's hospital room, anxious not to disturb the kid during his much needed rest. He'd been back to their motel room for yet another shower and change of clothes before coming here, feeling certain the smell of gasoline and smoke would alert suspicion, especially since The Magic Club went up in flames a few hours ago.

On leaving the club, Dean had locked up the building and left a sign on the door claiming the building was 'closed for refurbishment', then he'd taken Sam to the hospital. The kid was suffering from hypothermia and shock, and Dean was particularly wary of secondary drowning. He wasn't taking any chances with Sam's health.

Dean had stayed around long enough to make sure his little brother was taken care of, then headed out to dispose of the evidence.

It hadn't taken long to find the emaciated and dehydrated bodies of The Late Great Raymondo's victims; the bastard had kept them under the trap doors in the hidden practice room, like some kind of sick trophies. In between bouts of shivering, Sam had told him about the dark art books in Raymondo's dressing room. He'd liberally sprinkled them with salt, along with the bodies of the magician and his assistants, and sprayed them all with gasoline.

He used a whole box of matches, just to be sure, then let the flames spread through the room before sealing the brick door back in place. While most of the foundations were made of stone, there was enough wood down there to keep it burning. Hopefully the heat would become so intense, so white hot, that nothing would survive intact. By the time anyone spotted the building was on fire, the entire basement would be engulfed, and the foundations and its contents would be a raging mass of flames devouring everything in sight. With a bit of extra luck, the building would collapse, burying any other possible evidence of what had gone on that night just long enough for the Winchesters to hit the road and disappear.

It was regrettable the families of the victims would never have any real closure on the matter, but Dean hoped the anonymous, typed letter he'd send out on the morning of the brothers' departure would help them come to terms with their loss, and eventually learn to move on.

In the mean time, Dean was planning on a _very_ in depth conversation with Sam at some point, though getting him _to_ that point would be comparable to pulling teeth. Sighing, he pushed a lock of hair out the kid's eyes, and studied his pale complexion.

Sam's hypothermia was being treated with warm IV fluids, and humidified oxygen fed through a nasal cannula hooked under his nose. His wrists were tightly bandaged, and Dean's explanation for _those_ would not go down well with Sam when he woke up.

He chuckled.

"_Uh, ya see, my little brother was necking with his girlfriend when the brakes on the car gave out and plunged them into the lake."_

_The doctor's eyebrow had risen slowly, before pointedly glaring at the abrasions on Sam's wrists. "Really."_

_Smothering a grin, Dean continued awkwardly. "Ah… yeah… Uh, apparently she's into the kinky stuff, ya know, handcuffs and all that? So Sam was only too happy to oblige."_

_The doc's eyes had nearly bulged out of his head. "Do go on."_

_Is this guy taking __**notes?**_

"_Yeah, she handcuffed him to the steering wheel, but the dumb kids forgot the key. So they called me on my cell phone, I just got there in time to haul him out…" Dean had shrugged. "The girlfriend dumped him, went home, and I brought him into the ER. You know the rest."_

Oh yeah, Sam was gonna be furious when he found out. But at least it would keep his mind occupied until he was ready to talk.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam _refused_ to talk to Dean for three days after he signed out AMA. If he closed his eyes he could still see the looks his doctor and nurse kept giving him when they thought he wasn't looking, and his face flushed scarlet with embarrassment.

When his brother roared with laughter, Sam was so angry there should have been _steam_ coming out his ears.

Sitting on his bed and munching moodily on a slice of pizza, Sam still quietly fumed, his formula one brain racing to think up a suitable plan of vengeance.

"Here. Figure we could both use it."

A cold beer was thrust under his nose and he tilted his head back, eyes meeting Dean's. For once, his brother's gaze was serious. Sam nodded his thanks and tentatively accepted the beverage.

Seeing the break through and all the more grateful for it, Dean relaxed, sat on his bed and shuffled back to the headboard on his butt.

"So," Dean glanced over enquiringly, refusing to be put off by the hunched shoulders and sad eyes. "You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

Sam shrugged. "Which part?" he could play the role of dumb only so far.

Dean waved his beer in a vague gesture. "The whole, 'Sam, stop breathing' thing." Though said casually, Sam heard the undercurrent of fear and the silent _I'm here. Let me in. I want to help._

Snorting softly, Sam wasn't entirely sure his brother wanted to hear this, but _this_ was Dean was _asking_ him. Not demanding, unlike their dad…

"When..." Sam faltered for a second, then seemed to find some inner strength. "When he looked in my eyes that first time, there was no gradual loss of control, it was sudden, like... like my strings were _cut _and reattached to _him_," Sam explained, quietly. "I couldn't move, blink, or smile without his say so. Raymondo had complete control over me. And th-that included my breathing."

Dean said nothing but took a fierce swallow of beer, wishing it was something stronger.

"Before he took me down into that room, he… uh… had a little fun demonstrating that," Sam saw Dean's shoulders tense up from the corner of his eye. "H-he nearly s-suffocated me several times… I don't know exactly how many… b-but I lost c-count after the first couple. I couldn't st-start breathing until he told me…"

Sam dipped his head, eyes clenched shut, hands curled into fists.

Dean rubbed a hand down his face and licked his lips.

_Now_ he was getting it. Not that he hadn't understood before, but this was _Sam_. The kid hated anyone having _any_ kind of control over him, not his friends and especially not his family, but for a complete stranger…

"Sammy?"

Sam heaved in a shaky breath and faced his brother with a fake smile and watery eyes. "Yuh!"

Dean watched him for a few seconds, then decided it was safe to comment. "I know you won't wanna hear this? But I'm glad you nailed the bastard."

Sam blinked, still feeling the lingering shadow of guilt at having taken a human life. "Huh?"

"At first, I wished it was me, partly for the satisfaction of taking 'im out myself," Dean continued, fingering the label on his beer bottle, "_and _partly because of what he did to those people, but mostly because of what he did to you." Green eyes flared briefly with fierce love and protectiveness. "But you needed it."

"Dean," Sam shook his head in despair, voice hoarse. "I _killed_ a fucking _human._ That's not... that's not something I _needed! Not _something I can _come back_ from"

"_Yes you can!_" Dean leaned over and gripped Sam's shoulder, forcing the kid to look at him. "Because that guy? Yeah, he was human, I'll grant ya, but he was a human who dabbled in things he had no business getting involved with, and that _turned him into a monster._" A gentle squeeze of the shoulder belied his anger. "He gave you no choice. It was him or us, man." Dean's voice softened along with his eyes. "Him or us. That's all it comes down to."

Sam stared at him for a moment. "Ok." He whispered.

But it wasn't, not by a long shot, Dean could see that clearly enough, and it wouldn't be for a long time to come.

However, there was only so much the brothers were prepared to talk about in one sitting, so Dean called an adjournment by finishing his beer and grabbing another from the cooler.

"Same again?" he offered, smirking in a way that made everything, just for that moment, feel _normal_ again.

Sam laughed and drained the dregs of his first before accepting his second. "Sure." He raised his beer.

Dean nodded.

The bottles clinked together in a silent but brief farewell to the innocent victims of The Not-so-Great Raymondo.

"Uh, Dean? Thanks."

"For what?"

"For saving me. That was pretty neat, by the way."

"Yeah, well." Dean's casual shrug didn't fool Sam for a second. "It took me long enough to realise the guy had some _serious_ TK mojo. I mean, it was the only way the whole 'gauntlet' thing could've gone down." A heavy sigh. "I wasn't sure it would work, but when the damn axe barely made a dent, I was out of options. The pipes were made of iron, so _they _weren't gonna give... I really thought you were…" _Done for._

As if afraid of revealing too much, Dean broke off and cleared his throat. "Just so ya know, you _ever_ talk about me giving you the kiss of life in front of _any_one, and I'll kick your ass from here into the middle of next week."

"Right!" Sam smirked around his beer.

Another silence descended as Dean picked up the TV remote, but just before he hit the standby button he added: "And thanks for saving _me_, ya know, from that axe." He shuddered. "Coulda been nasty."

"You're welcome, _Indiana_." Sam grinned. "Shoulda seen your face when I pointed that gun at you, though."

"Shutup Sam!"

"That little vein in the side of your head sure was bulgin'…"

"Sam!"

"…all red and angry…"

"I'm warnin' ya bitch!" Dean levelled a finger at his brother. "Shut ya pie hole or I'll shut it for ya!"

"…kinda like now, in fact." Sam, still grinning, tilted his head in consideration.

Dean's glare could have withered a Grand Duchess.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam sniggered quietly and grabbed the TV remote. He'd been thinking about his revenge for the last week, lulling his brother into a false sense of security.

But now, his time had come.

_Every dog has its day, and today's the day…_

Dean stirred and snuffled in his sleep. But when he tried to turn over onto his stomach, he woke up in a panic.

"Sam?! What the hell's goin' on?"

…_that I'm the dog!_

"Mornin' Dean!" Sam called out cheerily from the breakfast bar, chewing on some toast and channel surfing_. _"How's the head?"

His brother had brought out the tequila the night before and Sam saw his golden opportunity. _Pretending_ to knock back each shot hadn't been an easy one to pull off at first, but as Dean fell deep under the power of Jose Gold, Sam had simply replaced his brother's empty shot glass for his full one, and by that point Dean hadn't even noticed his little brother was stone cold sober.

So, now, Sam had a grumpy big brother with the hangover from hell, who was about to go psychotic when he realised what Sam had done to him.

"Sam!"

The rattle of metal on wood signified that Dean had finally figured out that he was handcuffed and spread eagled on his bed. But he had yet to realise there was worse to come…

"Sam, what the hell am I wearing?!"

_Ah. There he is._

Sam couldn't resist it. Grinning broadly, he stood up, walked over to his own bed and picked up his cell phone, flipping open the camera lens.

"_That_ would be Sadie the waitress's push-up bra you kept as a souvenir. Remember Dean? _From all those years ago?_"

Dean growled warningly and yanked on the handcuffs again. "You let me out of these _right now_, you little…"

Sam snapped a few pictures of his scowling and helpless brother. "The same push-up bra you planted in _my_ duffle when Dad went through it at _your _suggestion!" he sauntered over to the laptop and hooked up his cell phone via the USB port. "You told him that his missing hunting knife was in there, _even_ _though_ it was, in fact, hidden under your pillow at the time."

Dean's mouth fell open, but he wisely kept quiet.

A few clicks of the mouse later, and Sam's grin turned unbearably smug. "There. That should do it."

Dean regarded him suspiciously. "Do what, exactly? Sammy? Do _what?_"

Sam pulled a tiny key out of his jean pocket and dangled it just out of Dean's reach.

"Here's the deal, I let you loose and that's it. No more pranks or petty recriminations," Sam admonished as sternly as he could, which was hard what with his older brother sulking and pouting like a six year old... _wearing a bra no less!_ "You go back on your word and the photos, hidden in an archived and _password protected file_, go out to everyone on my contact list. Understood?"

Dean was about to protest, but he stopped and hung his head for a moment.

Sam watched him, waiting for some snarky comment or other, but Dean just raised his head with a soft smile.

"Ok, Sammy. The student has finally outdone the master." He shook his head in amusement. "You got yaself a deal."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Great!"

Sam proceeded to unlock the handcuffs, missing the evil grin that briefly passed across his brother's face.

The thing is, Sam _could_ trust his brother to watch his back and keep him safe. Dean would give his life, his last dime, the shirt off his back, you name it. He'd give it all for Sammy. Sam could ask his big bro for almost anything.

_Almost _anything.

The one thing _he absolutely shouldn't have asked for_, however, was Dean's word to abstain from the prank wars, because that way of thinking was only going to end in tears… or boxer shorts spiked with itching powder.

Dear, oh dear…

_**The end.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_**Hope you all enjoyed that, in spite of the dodgy physics employed in this fic. I'm actually a Biologist by trade and hopeless at maths etc, so please don't have a go at the whole 'water blowing out the glass' theory… if you feel the urge to lambaste me for it, please take a deep breath, and remember: It's just a story!**_

_**I'd much rather hear what you **_**liked**_** about it, rather than what you **_**didn't**_**.**_

_**Yeah, I know. I'm an oversensitive soul.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


End file.
